


κόπτω

by thatgothlibrarian



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Canon Compliant, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Post-Canon, Shaving, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgothlibrarian/pseuds/thatgothlibrarian
Summary: “Laurent, I can shave myself. I am not a child,” he protested. “It has been a week. I think I am well enough to raise a blade to my cheek.”But instead of lashing out, Laurent just met his gaze. Damen saw that Laurent’s eyes took on a hint of sadness as he spoke. “I know.”And then Damen knew, too. Of course Laurent would look into Akielon mourning rituals. He had taken Auguste, and now Laurent had taken Kastor.“Please, let me,” Laurent’s voice soothed him, and he relaxed back onto the pillows propping him up on the bed.





	κόπτω

**Author's Note:**

> Before Alexander the Great, the Greeks didn't really shave. How else were you supposed to be a philosopher if you had no beard to stroke. It could be a form of punishment to have one's beard shaved. But in mourning, men would shave their beards, sometimes even pulling the hairs out one by one if a razor or something else wasn't available.
> 
> κόπτω = kóptō, “to cut, to damage, to strike”
> 
> (And RIP me not getting to write a trans character. My soul is dying.)

The world was starting to stabilize. No longer did Damen catch himself slipping in and out. No longer did Damen lose track of time. He was able to recognize the slaves tending to him in his bed. He was able to feel the aching of his body and remember its cause. The bells had tolled, and the weight of their chiming finally caught up to him days later, the beating of his heart continuing the rhythm long faded into the air.

Kastor was dead.

His father was dead.

And he was king.

Well, mostly. While he healed, the newly-appointed kyroi tried to hold the kingdom together. But now that he was past the threat of death, daily he was brought with news to hear, with decisions to make, with questions to answer. As king, Damianos had the right to keep anyone he wanted from disturbing his rest. But as king, Damianos also had the responsibility to care for his people, regardless of his own personal situation.

And then there was Laurent.

One of Damen’s haziest memories after Paschal had given him a powerful draught to help him sleep and heal, was that of Laurent, still wearing a chiton covered in his blood, giving orders by his bedside. “We need the Exalted alive more than we need a decision about whatever you are about to bring him. Take it to Nikandros if it is so urgent, otherwise I will see to it tomorrow.”

Laurent, not yet a king, but the only other person in the entire world to whom Damen would kneel. Early in his recovery, he once woke to Laurent holding his hand and whispering, “please, I can’t lose you, too.” He hadn’t yet opened his eyes, and he stirred his body before he did to give Laurent the space to conceal whatever emotions he had been showing. Laurent was Laurent, after all. When he finally opened his eyes, Laurent’s still held some softness and worry. Damen knew he was the only person who would ever get to see him like this.

“Go back to sleep,” Laurent had said, sternly. “Paschal says you need your rest.”

“I am not going to die, you know,” he retorted with a smirk, though his voice was still ragged and weak.

Laurent gave him a shy smile, as if to say _I know, and I cannot believe it._ There was so much that could not be believed that passed between them with just a glance. “I will kill you personally if you do.” Laurent kissed his forehead, and Damen surrendered again to sleep.

When Damen was able to stay awake for hours at a time, Laurent finally left his side, helping the kyroi and especially Nikandros keep bedlam at bay. For a few days now, he was mostly left to himself, slaves bringing him food and drink as needed, tending to his wounds and bathing him with soft rags.

And today, it was just getting to be too much. Damen’s thoughts ran wild with no medicine to keep him asleep, and he hadn’t been disturbed with kingly responsibilities for hours. Damen groaned, running his hands down his face. His calloused fingers scratched his skin and the coarse hair that had filled in during his bedrest. Damen paused with his hands there and let out a shaky breath.

Kastor had grown out his beard, like their father, where Damen had still kept his face cleanly shaven and youthful.

_Kastor._

In Ancient Akielos, a man was less of a man if he had no beard. Indeed, it was shameful to even have another man shave you. And although a smooth face was not scandalous or emasculating anymore, it tended to be something one let go of as one aged. While Damen had been in the service of Laurent, he shaved his own face daily; he assumed that Laurent also shaved his own as he had never been asked, and Laurent’s face never had anything more than the short stubble grown after a long day.

Damen knew that he would mourn his brother properly once he was no longer confined to this godforsaken bed. But there was one thing he could do now. In Akielos, if a man had a beard, he would shave it off as a sign of mourning. It showed that a man had lost part of himself, as well as the start of a new chapter, of new growth.

“Bring me supplies for shaving,” Damen said to the slave currently tidying the room.

“Yes, Exalted,” the slave said as she exited the room.

As soon as she was through the door, Laurent stepped through the threshold. He was back in his severe Veretian clothing, but his eyes held a weariness that only Damen could read. Despite that weariness, those same eyes lit up seeing Damen awake and well, and they shared a soft smile.

“How are you feeling?” Laurent asked as he sat in the chair by Damen’s bed. He placed a hand on Damen’s forehead, smoothing away his curly black locks. He did not think he would ever tire of the small, secret ways that Laurent showed affection. Damen grabbed his hand and brought the palm to his lips. 

“I have been better,” Damen said with purposeful levity. “I miss you.”

“I am here,” Laurent returned with a playful bite. _I miss you, too_ , he did not say. But Damen knew.

“Here is your razor, Exalted.” The slave woman had returned, averting her gaze from her king.

Damen began to grab for the items, but was interrupted by Laurent saying, “I will take those items for Damianos Exalted. You are dismissed, and let the guards know to not let anyone in until I leave, unless it is urgent.”

The slave bowed and left, closing the door behind her.

Laurent tested the blade of the razor against his thumb, even though no slave would ever bring a dull blade to her king. He sat the basin with water on the bedside table. Damen’s eyes went wide when Laurent poured the oil into his own hands, rubbing them together to warm it, and he almost jumped out of the bed when Laurent brought those hands to lather his face. The thought of another person who was not a slave shaving him confused and thrilled him.

“Laurent, I can shave myself. I am not a child,” he protested. “It has been a week. I think I am well enough to raise a blade to my cheek.”

But instead of lashing out, Laurent just met his gaze. Damen saw that Laurent’s eyes took on a hint of sadness as he spoke. “I know.” 

And then Damen knew, too. Of course Laurent would look into Akielon mourning rituals. He had taken Auguste, and now Laurent had taken Kastor.

“Please, let me,” Laurent’s voice soothed him, and he relaxed back onto the pillows propping him up on the bed.

Laurent’s slender hands gently cupped his jaw and began working the thick oil into his beard. His fingers massaged the skin slowly but firmly, making sure the oil completely saturated the hair. Damen was already lost in the sensation. It was so comforting, so soothing, and he still could not believe Laurent trusted him enough to show him such tenderness. He would work his whole life to be worthy of it, no matter how many times he failed.

Damen let out a heavy, contented breath through his nose and hummed deep in his chest.

Once the oil was placed to Laurent’s liking, he cleaned his hands in the washbasin and dried them with a towel, which he then placed on Damen’s broad chest. He stood up and directed Damen to scoot so that Laurent could stand behind him at the side of the bed. Laurent’s body was firm behind Damen, and he leaned back to keep any strain off his abdomen. A warmth bloomed in his chest.

“Tilt your head back,” Laurent said as he placed a gentle kiss on Damen’s crown. He grabbed Damen’s chin with his left hand and then slowly brought the razor to his throat with his right. Damen sucked in a shallow breath. As Laurent trusted Damen, so did Damen trust Laurent: with his heart, with his kingdom, with his life. They had had so many opportunities to kill each other and still found themselves together, in the end. But his pulse fluttered as the blade touched his skin. 

Laurent pulled the blade up the taut skin of his neck, the razor making a noise as it scraped through the coarse hairs. Damen swallowed, thickly. He had shaved himself hundreds of times, the motions memorized and rote. So why, he wondered, did this feel so...different. He felt dizzy, disoriented. He felt disconnected from his body and hyper aware of it, all at once.

When Laurent’s warm breath ghosted across the newly shaven, sensitive skin at his neck, Damen shivered.

Laurent must have noticed, because he paused, briefly, before continuing. After he finished with Damen’s neck, Laurent got up and moved Damen back onto the pillows and knelt on the bed. He moved to his cheeks, stopping between each swipe to wipe the blade against the towel, dipping it into the washbasin every so often. Damen’s skin felt like it was on fire, as if every nerve had been made anew under Laurent’s touch. He felt everything, his past, Kastor, Jokaste, Marlas, everything dissolve away with his beard, and likewise, the possibilities of his future, their future, took flight from his newly revealed skin. He couldn’t keep his eyes of Laurent’s face, scrunched with concentration. His breath huffed when Laurent told him to bite his lower lip so that he could shave his chin.

Damen’s cock stirred and swelled under his chiton. Laurent was so close, and he could smell the sweet orange in his hair from his soaps. They hadn’t been together since the inn, when Laurent had gone to his knees and he felt as if we would die from the sweetness. His body, his soul, ached for Laurent, and it felt cruel for his lips to be so close and not be able to claim them.

And Laurent must have noticed that, too, for he began to cover Damen’s wet skin with chaste kisses after each swipe of the blade. He was amazed that something so mundane as shaving could turn into something so intimate. Damen hissed as the blade nicked him by the ear. Laurent cleaned the blade in the water and then placed a kiss directly over the cut. Damen groaned when he felt Laurent’s tongue against his skin for the briefest of moments. 

" _Laurent_ ," Damen moaned.

“If you keep distracting me, you’ll have a lot more cuts on your face,” Laurent scolded him. 

“But you are almost finished.”

“And you are still healing.”

Damen groaned. Paschal had told them not to do anything to upset the stitches until he personally gave them the go ahead.

Laurent gave the blade a few final passes against his face before wiping a clean, damp cloth across the smooth skin. The slave had also brought some facial tonic, and Laurent dabbed it on Damen’s face. Damen felt clean, reborn. His heart was still heavy, but the newly budding love within it burst through. He understood now why this mourning ritual was observed, though he doubted it was meant to be observed as he was doing it now.

“What would you do, if we could,” Laurent whispered as he sat back in his chair right at the edge of the bed, still shy in this new openness between them. He laid a hand on Damen’s soft cheek, brushing his thumb across the sensitive skin. 

Damen took Laurent’s chin in his hand and met his icy blue eyes. The look spoke volumes. “I would show you all the care and affection you have just shown me,” he said, infusing his voice with everything he felt for Laurent. “If you wanted me to shave you, I would. If you wanted me to undress you, bathe you, feed you, I would.” For any other man, he would feel ashamed saying those words. But for Laurent, if it was submission, it was given as an offering, gladly and joyfully.

Laurent flushed. “If you recall, you have already done those things for me, and not out of love I will remind you.”

“As if I could forget.” Laurent stiffened, slightly, at that, but Damen continued.

“I wish I could pull you up onto my lap. I miss the way your body feels against mine.” He brought his thumb to Laurent’s mouth and swiped it across his beautiful, soft lips. “I would place a thousand kisses on your lips, then a thousand more, and then again. If I had any skill in poetry, I would write epic songs about your lips that would be performed in every court from here to Arles.” Laurent kissed his thumb before lightly taking it into his mouth. Damen’s breath shuddered on his next inhale.

“I would kiss you lightly, chastely. I would breathe your name like a prayer against your mouth, for you are the only holy place I will ever visit again.” Laurent released Damen’s thumb from his mouth, his breathing a little heavier, his eyes fixed on Damen.

“And I would hear that prayer, and answer it,” Laurent whispered. He turned his head into Damen’s palm and kissed it, breathing out Damen’s name, _Damianos._ Damen could not help it any longer and pulled Laurent’s face to meet his, claiming his mouth in a fierce kiss. Laurent moaned lowly and licked across the seam of Damen’s lips. Damen opened his mouth to Laurent as if he had been holding his breath so long he was close to death, and was now able to fill his lungs.

“Then what,” Laurent finally gasped, leaning into Damen more.

Damen moved to kiss Laurent’s neck. “I would worship every inch of your beautiful, white skin. I would kiss it,” he punctuated with a kiss, “lick it,” punctuated with a lick, “suck and bite it,” and when he mouthed at the place where Laurent’s neck met his shoulders, Laurent let out a soft gasp.

“I would rock your hips over mine, so you can feel how much I want you,” Damen whispered.

“That is pretty obvious,” Laurent huffed, and he ran his fingers over the tented cloth at Damen’s hips.

“I would roll your nipples in my fingers, kissing them pink and hard.” Laurent was breathing heavier and fell forward, resting his forehead against Damen’s. The pressure of his petting increased. When Damen bucked up into his hand, Laurent withdrew.

“No, no moving. We are already getting you in enough trouble now if Paschal finds out.”

“I am king. Let him find out.”

" _Damen._ "

“Fine, fine.” Damen kissed him, softly. “Please do not stop.” 

“I might be a cast-iron bitch, but I am not that cruel,” Laurent smiled into the kiss. “What next.”

“I would take your beautiful pink cock in my hand, running my thumb under the head as you bucked into my grasp. I love seeing you take your pleasure on my body.” Damen’s voice was getting huskier and thicker, and he felt like he was swimming in a viscous pool, everything heavy and heady.

“Yes,” he heard Laurent breathe out and saw him move the hand that wasn’t groping Damen into his own pants. Damen choked on any response as Laurent started rocking in his chair slowly and groping Damen harder. Damen threw back the covers and placed Laurent’s hand on his arousal, now dark and heavy with need.

Laurent’s head fell back between his shoulders. He was sitting in the chair with his legs spread wide, his right hand on Damen’s cock on the bed and his left undoing the laces at his crotch, freeing himself. Damen licked his lips and continued, watching Laurent come undone from his voice. He had never seen Laurent like this, never saw him touch himself without Damen. He wondered if he touched himself alone, lying in his bed, writhing under his covers as he discovered the new pleasures of his body. Damen wondered if he thought of him, of the times they had been together. Damen groaned at the thought, Laurent’s hand moving faster and slicker with precome.

“And would you take me, Damen? Would you take me on that bed? Would you press my body down into the mattress?” Laurent’s strokes on his own cock were increasing in speed and his voice was getting shakier. “Would your cock hang heavy against my stomach?”

“Yes, and after I fucked you with my fingers and with my mouth until you were writhing beneath me, I would enter you slowly, watching your face as you take every inch.” Damen moaned as he remembered just how good Laurent felt around him. Their eyes met again, intense with need that couldn’t be fulfilled.

Laurent swallowed, his hands losing rhythm as he got so, so close. “And you would make me feel so full, so complete.” He flushed. “My body would take you deeper and deeper, your cock breaking me apart. The way you look above me, your hips snapping against me faster and faster, it’s like you are a god, a mythical warrior from your silly legends, brought to life, taking me again and again and--” Laurent’s voice caught with a gasp, his mouth hanging open.

“Look at me, Laurent.” And Laurent did.

“I would fuck into you as if the entire reason I was born was to do so. I would fuck your cock in my hand as our hips met like the crashing of waves.” Damen lost all semblance of rational thought. The only thing he knew was Laurent’s hand and Laurent’s eyes. His words trailed off as they both moaned, their exhales turning into _ah’s_ as they neared their climaxes. His own was throbbing deep in his gut, his cock blazing hot in Laurent’s hand.

Then, as their eyes were on one another, he saw Laurent convulse as orgasm claimed him, spending into his hand, the quietest of gasps escaping from his lips. The hand on Damen’s cock slowed for only a moment as Laurent came down from his orgasm, and then he was pumping Damen harder, faster, his wrist twisting with every stroke. Damen’s body was so tense from not moving his hips, and it was like the clouds breaking during a storm when he let go with a groan, bursts of come striping his chest and falling over Laurent’s hand. Laurent stroked him through it and leaned over to kiss him, lazy and satiated. Damen kissed Laurent deeply, slowly, their tongues meeting and tangling. They slowed, and Laurent nipped at Damen’s bottom lip before laying some final close-mouthed kisses on the corner of his mouth.

“If you spent on your bandages, do not blame me when Paschal scolds you.”

“Well why don’t you clean me off and find out. I cannot leave this bed,” Damen said moving his arms open as if to illustrate the point.

Laurent leveled him with an icy glare, but Damen saw the smallest of smirks forming on his face. He got the towel they had used for shaving and dampened it in the washbasin. He cleaned himself before fussing over Damen, wiping his skin with the same gentle touches as before. Laurent narrowed his eyes when he saw that Damen was only a centimeter away from soiling the bandage over his wound, but no blood had come through the stitches.

“Laurent, I am fine. Would you come up here? I would hold you, just for a minute.”

Laurent stilled and then dropped his shoulders, defeated. “Fine,” he rolled his eyes, “but I do have to go soon. Someone needs to rule this kingdom,” Laurent smiled as he made his way into the bed. It was just big enough for two people, nothing less for a king, even a sick one. He tucked into Damen and nuzzled his exposed skin, his newly shaven neck. Damen placed a firm, lingering kiss on the crown of his head, wrapping his arms around Laurent as best he could from a sitting position. They sat there in silence, enjoying each other’s company. Damen felt one of Laurent’s thumbs move across his skin back and forth. He tightened his grip, wanting Laurent impossibly closer. His heart swelled, and their breathing was quiet and steady in the room. Laurent’s breathing shallowed, as if he was slipping into sleep.

When he had first met Laurent, he would never in a million years imagined he would be in this position today: a king, holding the very man who had been his tormentor in his arms, trusting enough to fall asleep, to be vulnerable with him. Damen ran his hand over Laurent’s silky blond hair, now growing long. Laurent was so precious to him. He did not know how he would cope when Laurent had to inevitably head back to Vere.

But for right now, he had this. His kingdom, and this. Laurent was so warm in his arms, and he wanted nothing more than to bring him apart again. He wanted to give Laurent all of himself. But he knew Laurent would not allow anything more until it was certain he would not aggravate his injury.

“Forget Paschal. Nikandros would kill me slowly and miserably if he found out.”

“If he found out what.”

Damen turned his head to the door, and there was Nikandros, already looking frustrated.

“Your king just risked his own health because he couldn’t control his cock being in my presence,” Laurent murmured, barely turning his head towards the door.

Nikandros went to speak, then closed his mouth with a snap. He looked like a man defeated. “Pardon me, Exalted. It, uh, it can wait,” he said with a huff as he left the room. Damen swore he heard Nikandros say things worthy of treason under his breath.

Laurent actually giggled, and then joy was bubbling through both of them. They laughed and kissed, neither believing they were really here, that they had won. That they had each other. Their cuffs clinked as Damen took Laurent’s hand in his and placed it over his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all can find me on tumblr @thatgothlibrarian, and feel free to message for my Discord! I'm also in the CaPri discord so you can hit me up there.


End file.
